


Amusement

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/F fantasy, M/M, Masturbation, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Power Dynamics, Sexual Fantasy, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 18:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2078706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Established Hannibal/Will. Will shares with Hannibal a fantasy that he has about Abigail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amusement

Hannibal is happy – he always is after the opera. He has just spent an evening watching skilled artists performing stunning heights of emotion, so effectively that he experienced each and every one of those emotions himself. He’d left the opera house pleasantly drained, content to return to the comforts of his home, of his bed.

One thing he is _not_ feeling is sexually inclined. But Will is. Will gets horny when he’s bored, and as much as he wants to please Hannibal, he was bored at the opera. Will is affected by emotions that are genuine, not those that are performed.

Having attained these two different states of mind, they compromise. Will lies on his back on the bed, his head propped up by pillows. Hannibal cuddles up to his side, ready to provide a little assistance. He may not be in the mood, but he is courteous, and gives Will his full attention. He provides Will with kisses on the neck, and behind his ear, and Will likes those because they make him shiver. And occasionally Hannibal gives him kisses on the mouth, and Will likes those because they make his dick harder. Will tilts his face upwards to receive these kisses, then back down to watch the way his cock looks in his hand, while puffs of Hannibal’s warm breath tickle his hairline.

Without the distraction of seeking his own pleasure, Hannibal can concentrate on what’s going on with Will. “What are you thinking of?” he asks, as Will plays leisurely with his cock.

Will tenses faintly. After some hesitation, he says, “Nothing. Us.”

Hannibal puts his hand over Will’s heart, then slides it up until it rests across his suprasternal notch. He likes to feel the moments when Will’s pulse increases, and to know what thoughts are in his mind when it happens. Will is always shy at first with the talking, because he is aware that he is being examined, but soon enough he will open up.

Hannibal has a suspicion. He drops several tender kisses to Will’s temple, then says, “Abigail looked beautiful in her dress tonight, didn’t she?”

Will does not respond verbally, but Hannibal feels his reaction in the pulse in his throat. He cups Will’s chin, titling his head, compelling Will to look at him.

“Hm?”

Will finally admits: “Yes.”

Hannibal feasts his eyes on the look of relief in Will’s face, having confessed. There is a different tension in his limbs in this moment than there was in the previous moment, more primitive.

Now that he knows that Hannibal knows, Will divulges: “This morning when I took a shower, I, ah, left the bathroom door open a little bit. There’s no reason she would have come into the master bathroom, but I fantasized that she did. That she accidentally walked in on me coming out of the shower.”

Will continues stroking himself, in silence now, apparently having said all he intended to say, though Hannibal can’t imagine that Will actually believes he’d be allowed to let a confession like that lie.

Hannibal asks conversationally, “What would have happened if she had?”

Will considers the phrasing of his answer. “She wouldn’t run out,” he says at last. “She would just look at me. She’d look right at my dick, wouldn’t care that I could see her looking at it. I’d just stand there, and let her look as much as she wants. Because, _ah_ , she’s never seen or touched a man, not like that. She’s curious.”

“And how would you satisfy her curiosity?”

“She would want to touch it, and I’d let her. I’d tell her she could come over and touch it, see what it feels like.”

“Do you believe Abigail is a virgin?”

“Yes.”

“And in your fantasy, she craves male companionship?”

Will nods. “She wants to know what a man’s body feels like. So we would go into the bedroom, and I would lie down on the bed, and she, she would…do things, like, touch my beard, rub my chest, cup my balls.” Will wriggles and rolls his shoulders, nestling closer to Hannibal, settling in and getting more comfortable. “I’d let her just touch me all over, and then when she’s ready, I’d take her clothes off, and she would lie down with me.” Will presses the heel of his free hand into the taut muscle in his thigh. He is beginning to melt into his fantasy now, less aware of the kisses and touches Hannibal continues to occasionally bestow.

“How does it make you feel, that she came to you?”

A benevolent smile spreads across Will’s face. “She’s safe with me. I would treat her better than any other man could.”

Hannibal squeezes Will’s bicep. “What would happen first?”

“I’d just…touch her. Her skin is soft. And warm. She’s so pale, but her skin would be so warm. She would make these little noises when I touch her. To let me know how good I was making her feel.”

He falls silent again, absorbed in his thoughts. His free hand slides up over his hip, across his belly. Hannibal murmurs against his ear, “Keep talking. What would you do to her next?”

“Eat her out,” Will says immediately. He bites his lip, then continues: “She’d…she’d spread her legs wide so I could do it. She’d have a nice little bush, and she would taste amazing. I could lick her out for hours. She probably tastes like soap. Just clean, and pink, _unh_.”

A pearlescent drop has gathered at the tip of Will’s cock – he strokes faster and faster, until it breaks and spills down the glans, disappears between his fingers. Hannibal watches Will’s squirming hips and curling toes with amusement. Beneath his palm, he can feel Will’s pulse like thunder. “Would you penetrate her?”

Will pushes up hard into his fist, and gasps, “Only if she wanted me to.”

“You would let her be in charge of everything.”

“Yes. Anything she wants. If she wanted to sit on my face...If she wanted me to lick her asshole, god yeah, I’d fucking do that. I’d be rock-hard the whole time, but I wouldn’t put it in her until she asked.”

Will has given himself over to the fantasy completely now, babbling freely while he roughly jerks his cock. The head of it is wet and gleaming. He swipes his thumb over the tip, spreading the wet he finds there, rubbing it into the slit. “I’d be so slow and careful with her,” he says, his breath hitching between his desperate words. “I’d get her so wet before I even tried to do it. I want to make it good for her. I’m a…I’m a good lover. I know how to hit that spot inside her. God, I’d make her feel amazing. I’d make her feel _special_.”

“Would you come inside her?”

Will looks up wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as if that was, at once, the worst thing Hannibal has ever said and the best idea he’s ever had. But Will doesn’t say anything in response, because he is coming now, ejaculating hard over his convulsing belly. The first jet arcs cleanly and lands on his sternum, and he continues to gaze up at Hannibal through every wet shuddering spasm.                                                                                                                                  

When he is done, Will sighs voluptuously. His rigid right arm relaxes, drops to his side, and he closes his eyes as he settles into the pillows. He expects Hannibal to soothe him now, and is taken aback when he instead feels that formidable presence recoiling from him. He opens his eyes to the sight of a cold, contemptuous Hannibal, who admonishes him: “Will, how could you? Abigail is a _child_.”

Will’s jaw drops at the whiplash change in Hannibal’s demeanor. He starts to say, _She’s not, she’s seventeen_ , but the moment the first word is out of his mouth he winces and collapses back into silence, knowing that that is a further incrimination, not a defense.

“I know that you wish to protect her. Do you think you can do that by claiming her for yourself? That is repugnant.”

Will rolls toward Hannibal, trying to close the awful distance between them. “I was just sharing a fantasy. I would never. I would _never_ \--”

“And what if she fell pregnant? You know that if anything bad were to happen to Abigail, I would be _devastated_.”

Cold panic-sweat breaks out all over Will’s body. He knows Hannibal is right, he just hadn’t been thinking of it in that way. He hadn’t felt he needed to.

“And as if that were not offensive enough,” Hannibal goes on, “you would do this to her in _our_ bed?”

Will twists away from Hannibal, away from his scorn, unable to look at him or be looked at a moment longer. “I’m gonna go clean up,” he says flatly. He rolls off the bed and strides to the bathroom.

He takes a long shower, hoping that by the time he is finished, Hannibal will be asleep. But when he returns to the bedroom, Hannibal is still sitting up in bed and looking right at him, as though he’d been watching the doorway without interruption, in anticipation of his return, for the past twenty minutes. Will wants to go downstairs and sleep on the sofa, but he knows Hannibal would forbid it, on the grounds that it was childish. He must return to bed.

He lifts up the covers and joins Hannibal underneath them. Hannibal pulls Will closer to him, meaning to gather Will in his arms. Will turns away, still hurt and ashamed, but Hannibal cannot be discouraged, and spoons up behind Will tightly, wrapping an unyielding arm around his ribcage and cooing, “Good night, Will.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like what I do, perhaps you should follow berlynn-wohl on Tumblr. Lots of original content -- more Hannibal/Hannigram, plus Sherlock/Johnlock, Pacific Rim/Newmann, Night Vale, Deadpool, and Loki. :)


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